


When You Trust a Womanizer with Your Heart

by Sid_Loves_Andy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Drunken Confessions - And Not the Good Kind, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything Hurts, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter Needs Forgiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sid_Loves_Andy/pseuds/Sid_Loves_Andy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't realize what he'd done until he realized that the arm draped over his middle was dainty and painfully bereft of the stark red markings that he'd come to love, that the face beside him was surrounded by a halo of wheat-colored hair, that the warm body pressed to his back was undeniably female... </p>
<p>And even then, it didn't become real until he looked Drax in the eyes and slurred drunkenly, "I think I slept with her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Peter didn't realize what he'd done until he realized that the arm draped over his middle was dainty and painfully bereft of the stark red markings that he'd come to love, that the face beside him was surrounded by a halo of wheat-colored hair, that the warm body pressed to his back was undeniably female...

"Shit!" He rolled off of the bed with the grace of a drunken bull in a china shop. Not realizing that the blankets had bunched around his middle, he catapulted off the side of the bed and landed in a fluffy white cocoon. This also, unfortunately, awakened his sleeping partner.

"Peter?" A soft, tired voice came from atop the bed. Peter cursed under his breath again, fighting against the blankets that currently held him prisoner. "Peter, what happened? I heard a loud noise, and... why are you on the floor?"

He hurriedly stood, attempting to gain back  _some_ of the self-respect that he'd lost when he'd dived off of the side of the bed seconds earlier. When he realized that he was, in fact,  _very_ naked, he made a grab for the blanket and wrapped it around his lower body. His head felt like someone had taken a hammer to his skull, and he realized, with a painful twist in his gut, that he hadn't the slightest clue about  _anything_ that had happened in the last twenty-four hours...

"Aww, there's no need to act all modest now. It's not like I haven't already seen it." The woman teased gently, sliding over to the other side of the bed and resting on her knees. "In fact... why don't you drop that blanket and we can have a repeat performance..."

Peter swallowed hard and involuntarily gripped the blanket a bit tighter around him. "I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that one."

Worry and concern appeared on her pretty face, and her lower lip jutted out petulantly. "Wasn't it good for you, too?"

And here he'd thought that looking at sad, teary doe-eyed girls who realized they'd just been used was  _behind_ him. She was crying now, and her blubbering was doing  _wonders_ for the ever-present dull throb in the back of his skull. He watched through heavy, half-lidded eyes as she gathered up her clothes and put them on with angry, hurt precision. She was furious - at herself for being sweet-talked into bed by a fast-talking heart-breaker, and at Peter for  _using_ her in that way.

He wished that he could remember how the  _hell_ he'd gotten into this position in the first place. And while he liked to think that it was all a seriously fucked-up nightmare, the evidence was just a little too heavy to ignore. A used condom wrapper lay on the floor beside the bed, they were both naked (and Peter tried not to make it a habit of sleeping naked with those he had to deal with in the morning), the room wreaked of booze and sex... And that's when he realized what room they were in.

The dark colors and lack of lighting had made it difficult for him to notice, initially. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took in the unique array of weapons that had been acquired from across the galaxy. Knives of different lengths and thicknesses hung on the wall above the bed, their heavy wooden handles shimmering with gold and silver inlay. To his right, a more personal collection of small daggers was proudly displayed, and across the room, decorative swords hung from hooks along the wall.

"Shit!" His heart started to race as he quickly maneuvered over to the girl, practically throwing her belongings at her. "You have to leave -  _now_!" 

What the hell had possessed him to drag her to  _Drax's_ bedroom? She took her belongings from him with trembling hands. "You're an asshole!" 

"Yes, yes, I'm well-aware." It wasn't the first time he'd been told as much, and he highly doubted that it would be the last. "But you really can't be here right now. I wish there was more time to do this nicely, but... you really have to leave,  _now_!"

She looked around at the various weapons surrounding them for a moment, and for a second, Peter worried that she might get the idea to use one of them on him. But then, those tears returning to her eyes, she spat, "I hate you! Rot in hell, asshole!" And then she was gone.

The door slid closed behind her, and Peter turned to slowly examine the mess that was Drax's bedroom. How the hell did he expect to fix this mess before Drax and the others returned from the planet's surface with the necessary goods to keep them going? He didn't even know how much time he had, realistically. But things certainly weren't going to improve if he just stood there and stared at the mess, would they?

He started with the bed, stripping the sheets off until the mattress stood bare. The ship's washing machine was a clunker (obviously one of the things they'd been able to salvage from the original ship, and the most outdated thing on the new one) and it almost died when he stuffed all of the sheets inside, as well as half a container of soap. When he dressed the bed again, he had to stifle down the incessant worries that things weren't perfectly where they'd been, that Drax would notice the scent of freshly cleaned fabric, that  _her_ smell still lingered on the mattress...

"God, what the hell have I done?" He thought of all the times that he and Drax had shared that bed, how hard it had been for Drax to trust that he was more than the 'imbecile' that had broken  _back_ into the Kyln to steal back his cassette player. 

That inner disgust mounted as he cleaned up the rest of the mess. Clothes that were strewn across the floor were haphazardly relocated to his own room, the condom thrown in the incinerator (it was a little too risky to throw it into the trashcan), the messy blankets simply discarded... he hadn't felt this at odds with himself since returning from stealing the orb to find that poor girl that he'd forgotten was sleeping below deck.

And then the room was clean... or, as clean as it could be without arousing suspicion... and Peter felt his stomach churn with an ugly mixture of self-hatred and anger. All of this was just one giant cover-up, one giant lie. And this was his family. He'd promised himself a long time ago that, when it came to family, they deserved the absolute best. And this... he kicked at the base of the bed, vague memories of what had transpired earlier returning to him... this wasn't good for  _anyone_.

And what better way was there to deal with his brewing self-hatred then to get roaring drunk?


	2. A Drunken Mistake

**Meanwhile**

"Come back here, you little fucker, so I can knock you into next week!" Gamora looked at Rocket disapprovingly, as the raccoon attempted to hide the prosthetic eye among the mess of other mechanical gadgets that he'd tucked away in a shoddy box ravaged from one of Knowhere's various alleyways. 

"Was that really necessary?" She asked. The man was hot on their trail, his face bright red with fury. And Rocket just stood there, snickering under his breath.

"It is not physically possible to hit someone so hard that you send them back in time." Drax offered, looking between the two of them in confusion. Gamora rolled her eyes, while the little raccoon simply laughed harder.

"It's a figure of speech, Drax." And then, to Rocket, "Hand it over."

Rocket looked hurt. "What? Why? The old geezer seems to be able to see pretty well without it. Look at how fast he's gaining on us!" 

Gamora sucked in a deep breath, once again wondering where the hell Peter had wandered off to. "Because the 'old geezer' needs it more than you do."

The little raccoon cursed under his breath, before reaching into the box and handing it over. "Fine." 

The trip to Knowhere had been, overall, a disaster. What was meant as a one-day stop for fuel and needed supplies had turned into seventy-two hours of hell. A fight between resident love-birds Drax and Peter had sent Peter on a drinking and gambling binge, and the two together had equaled bankruptcy for the Guardians. And while they'd been able to pillage some scraps, Rocket's taste for kleptomania had gotten them into hot water on more occasions then Gamora cared to remember.

They hadn't seen Peter in a day and a half and Gamora was beginning to worry that the idiot had gone and gotten himself killed in a drunken stupor - or worse, bet the ship and lost. She was fully prepared to tear him a new one upon finding him, hangover be damned. They were a team, regardless of how dysfunctional they seemed, and teammates didn't just  _wander off_ without word to the others. It was enough to make her paranoid and pissed as hell.

And  _this_ , Rocket stealing the man's prosthetic eye, was just the icing on the cake. She returned it with a kind, apologetic smile, and the promise to verbally chastise the wayward raccoon, before none-too-gently kicking the genetically modified rodent into high-gear. They needed to make themselves scarce, and sooner rather than later. It seemed like only a matter of time before they pissed off someone that was actually  _willing_ to make good on their threats.

"Remind me to kill Peter when we finally manage to track down his lazy ass." Gamora hissed under her breath. Being abandoned on a planet with no money in her pocket was  _certainly_ not what she'd agreed to when she'd laid down her life for her fellow Guardians. 

"Peter's ass is not lazy. Asses cannot be lazy in general, only people can possess such traits." Drax provided helpfully.

Rocket rolled his eyes. "It's a figure of speech, you big lug." 

* * *

"Ah, Rocket, Gamora, Drax... so  _that's_ where you all wandered off to..." Peter slammed a half-empty bottle of Xandaran ale down onto the counter, almost falling off of the stool he currently sat on in the process. "Here, I was beginning to get worried..."

"Peter," Gamora blinked, all thoughts of massacring the half-Terran fleeing her mind as she asked, "Where are your pants?"

Peter looked down, half-surprised to find that he was, indeed, bereft of his pants. Funny, he could have sworn that he was wearing them a few hours ago. But the last day and a half was little more than a messy gray haze in his mind, and dwelling on it for any stretch of time brought a sharp stab of pain to his temples. But one thing he  _did_ seem to recall, however, was the scantily-clad woman hanging off of him and attempting to repair the damage done to Drax's room.

And then, drunkenly, "I must've lost 'em while I was bangin' that chick... what's 'er name? Mari... Gaea... no, Rhea. Yep, 'er name was Rhea." He finished proudly.

"What were you 'banging' this girl with?" Drax asked. Gamora tried to step in, not wanting Drax's innocent confusion to hurt him in the long run, but realized, belatedly, that there was no stopping the train from derailment. 

Peter looked confused as well, and then, "With my dick."

"Your phallus is an extremely ineffective weapon to use to 'bang' someone, Peter." There was a moment of relief as it occurred to the others that he had not realized what it was that Peter was really saying. "A hammer, for example, would have been a much more effective weapon to 'bang' her with."

"Why would I use a hammer to screw her?" Peter took another chug of ale, eyes locked on Drax.

"Peter!" Gamora hissed, her tone low and lethal.

"You cannot 'screw' a person, Peter." Drax said calmly. "A 'screw' is a small metal device used to hold objects together. To use a person as a screw would be foolish."

It was not computing in his alcohol-hazed mind why Drax would be so slow on the uptake. He'd been sitting at the counter for the last half-hour, trying to find a way to just come out and say that he'd cheated on Drax. In the end, he'd decided that it would be best if he just came right out with it. After all, Drax might perhaps show mercy to him if he didn't lie or try to beat around the bush. So why did the warrior have to make this so damn difficult?

He felt like shit about it - of course he did. The man had lost his wife and daughter, and had now entered into a relationship with a known womanizer who he'd trusted had put those days behind him. And now, said womanizer had gone and done it again (he was just thankful he'd managed to find the used condom wrapper on the floor), and found himself to be too weak to confront his lover without copious amounts of alcohol to blur his memory of the encounter. Oh yeah, he was boyfriend of the year.

He tried to muster all of that inner disgust and self-hatred, and he channeled it into one scathing comment that seemed to make everything  _real_. And he knew, without a doubt, that no amount of alcohol would be able to wash that away. Looking at Drax, he slurred drunkenly, "I had sex with her."

It was Drax's reaction that hurt most of all. Peter kind of expected him to lash out, to yell, to scream, to  _hit him_. But he realized that that was selfish - that he wanted those things because they would make  _him_ feel better. And Drax did none of them. He simply stood there, breath coming marginally faster, pupils dilated ever so slightly, and stared at Peter. Stared at him in a way that made Peter's stomach twist as the alcohol threatened to rebel against him.

Gamora gently placed a hand on Drax's shoulder, and suggested in a calm, placating tone, "Perhaps it would be best if you sat down for a little while, Drax." But he shrugged her hand off, and she didn't try to replace it.

"I honestly don't remember most of it." Peter said, spinning around on the stool. He's making it worse, not better, but his alcohol-hazed mind has difficulty differentiating between the two. "Can't say I regret it if I can't remember it." That remark was scathing, biting, and  _meant_ to hurt. Because he  _needed_ Drax to react.

"Peter, that's enough." Gamora finally got the idea to take the bottle away from him, and he didn't try to get it back.

"You're one stupid son of a bitch, you know that?" Rocket shook his head. "The man decorates his room with knives, and you shack up in his bloody bed." Peter's eyes widened, never having intended to divulge that little tidbit of information. Rocket tapped his nose, "Could smell that broad from a mile away."

"In our bed, Peter." His voice was soft, but thick. There was no question in his tone, only fact. 

"Yep." With a drunken, happy smile, he lifted his empty glass in a false toast to Drax. "Right in the fucking middle of it."

Peter watched as Drax sucked in a deep breath, then proceeded to turn and walk off in the direction of the room that they'd once shared. Gamora only shook her head, before following him. This left Rocket, Peter, and a sapling Groot alone. Rocket's look of disapproval was only bested by Groot's sad gaze - it seemed wrong for the otherwise joyous sapling to be looking at him so forlornly. 

"I am Groot." The definitely higher-pitched tone threw him off a little, but the note of sadness was still there. 

"Yeah, buddy. He screwed up big time." Rocket said, shaking his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, inspired by the lovely prompts at http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/
> 
> Be sure to let me know what you thought, and I'll have the next chapter up ASAP. Thanks for reading!


End file.
